


there we'll meet and part no more

by fitsofpassion



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Pre-Relationship, idk how to tag this bc it's just a stupid lil thing i wrote to get over my block, listen i... don't know what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29455593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitsofpassion/pseuds/fitsofpassion
Summary: "He grew up poor in New York City, has walked almost everywhere for a majority of his life; he wouldn’t even have a license if John hadn’t made him get one last year, so a three-hour stroll through the Virginia countryside, even if it is July, shouldn’t be a big deal.Almost an hour into his walk, Alex wants to punch his past self."or, alex is an idiot and thomas comes to the rescue
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 63





	there we'll meet and part no more

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know the last time i was in charlottesville, my 'research' for this consisted of about ten minutes on wikipedia. if you're familiar with the area this takes place, please use your imagination :)

“I’m sorry, sir, but there’s no record of your reservation, and we won’t have any available cars until tomorrow afternoon.”

Alex does his best to smile at the woman behind the desk, but he’s sure it falls flat. It isn’t her fault that his rental car reservation got deleted, not her fault that Alex just spent over two hours on a bus with no air conditioning and _multiple_ screaming children only to be told that he’s stuck _eleven miles_ from his destination. 

He walks outside and leans his back against the wall of the rental car agency, slams his head back against the brick. Eleven miles, eleven _fucking_ miles away from this site that’s half of a chapter in his senior study, and he’s stuck. 

It’s all Washington’s fault, really. _“Tomorrow is Saturday, Alexander, and I know you’ve already finished all of your work for this next week. You need to take a break, son.”_ Alex had grumbled a quick ‘notcha son,’ but had agreed and resigned himself to secretly working from his tiny apartment instead of the office. He hadn’t noticed his missing laptop until he got home; in its place had been a piece of paper reading _no work_ in Washington’s handwriting. Fucker had even drawn a smiley face.

Alex sighs and looks down the road, thinks _fuck it,_ and takes off walking. He pulls up the map app on his phone, types in the address he’s got memorized by now, and sees that it’s a fairly simple route, just a left at the end of this street and a straight shot from there. The walking time, close to three hours, makes him doubt for a second, but he shrugs it off and keeps going.

He grew up poor in New York City, has walked almost everywhere for a majority of his life; he wouldn’t even have a license if John hadn’t made him get one last year, so a three-hour stroll through the Virginia countryside, even if it _is_ July, shouldn’t be a big deal.

Almost an hour into his walk, Alex wants to punch his past self. Even in jeans and a t-shirt, both worn thin with age, Alex is drenched in sweat. He’d had the good sense to pack a granola bar and water bottle this morning before leaving his apartment, but he ate the granola bar on the bus for breakfast and the water bottle was almost empty. 

Still, he keeps walking. Refuses to let a fucking rental car agency and Virginia’s humidity ruin what might be his only chance to see one of the places he spent the entire spring semester researching.

He passes a couple of neighborhoods and a few houses that stand on their own. Twice he walks past families on their front porches - both families are sitting in _rocking chairs,_ what a fucking cliché - who raise their hands in greeting.

Just as Alex’s walking time tips into his second hour, he sees an absolutely breathtaking house on the right side of the road. _Not house, estate,_ he mentally corrects himself. No plain _house_ has giant columns in the front, multiple chimneys along the roof, and a goddamn _dome_ in the middle. He’s too busy admiring the sheer size of the building to notice the man half-jogging toward him.

His automatic instinct is to grab his bag tighter, avert his eyes, and keep walking, but he reminds himself that he’s in rural Virginia, there are _cows_ in the field to his left - he’s probably not about to get mugged. 

When the man gets closer, Alex _does_ panic - he could handle fighting off an attacker, could probably handle some hillbilly shouting about getting off his property, but he absolutely cannot handle an attractive, chiseled man walking his way. Not after the day he’s had. The stranger is in mud-caked jeans and a tank top, his arms glistening with sweat and muscles nearly bulging.

“Hey,” he says when he’s close enough, and Alex forces himself to look away from this guy’s - incredible - arms. But, in looking up into his face, Alex notices he looks… familiar? Who does he know in Virginia outside of DC?

“Hi,” Alex replies before mentally berating himself for being so awkward.

“You look like you’ve been walkin’ a while. Where ya headed?” the guy asks.

“Albemarle Barracks,” Alex responds. “Or, at least where they used to be. It’s for a research project.”

The guy smirks and cocks his head. “So you just thought you’d walk out there from town when it’s almost 100 degrees out?”

Alex frowns. “Rental car agency lost my reservation.” Just who the _fuck_ does this guy think he is, judging Alex? What if his car had broken down, what if he hadn’t been able to afford a car, what if he couldn’t drive? “Look, it’s-”

“You don’t recognize me, do you?” 

Okay, _rude,_ who just meets a stranger, judges them, then interrupts them? “Not sure I would even _want_ to, honestly.” When the guy laughs, a loud, mocking sound, it instantly takes Alex back two years and he knows _exactly_ who this asshole is. 

Thomas _fucking_ Jefferson.

Of _course_ it’s Jefferson, because Alex’s day wasn’t bad enough already. He’s bombarded with flashbacks from his first year of college, of vicious shouting matches, getting kicked out of classrooms for disrupting others’ learning, and one particularly horrible group project. “Oh, what the _fuck,”_ Alex groans, goes to turn and walk away.

Jefferson lets out another loud barking laugh. “What in the world could be so important about _Albemarle Barracks_ to make Alexander Hamilton come to this - what did you call it again? - little backwater state?”

Alex rolls his eyes. “Not here _only_ for that, dickwad, I’m in DC for the summer. It’s just my day off.”

“Oh yeah, duh, I also enjoy spending my days off researching irrelevant historical sites,” Jefferson drawls out. “Especially when I have to walk twenty miles to get there.”

Alex bites his tongue to stop himself from correcting Jefferson on the mileage. Instead, he turns and starts walking away, only to be yanked back by his wrist. Alex jerks away and rounds on the older man. “Listen here, asshole, don’t you-”

“I’m sorry,” Jefferson says quickly, interrupting again. He drops his gaze to the ground, runs a hand through his curls. “Sorry. Look, I saw you from the house and recognized you and wanted to come see what you were doing. Didn’t mean to… insult your research topic.”

Alex is so taken aback by Thomas Jefferson _apologizing_ that he mumbles, “It isn’t my _whole_ topic, so.”

Jefferson doesn’t acknowledge that he heard Alex speak. Instead, he looks back up and asks, “Would you like me to drive you the rest of the way?”

And it’s so unexpected, even more unexpected than the apology, that Alex, for once in his twenty years of life, doesn’t know what to say. On one hand, two years ago he would have rather walked all the way back to New York than accept handouts from Jefferson; however, it was _two years ago,_ and Eliza is always on at him about letting go of grudges. Maybe he can let go of just one grudge if it saves him another couple of hours walking in the July heat.

“Uh… yeah. Sure.” Jefferson’s eyes widen a little, as if he was ready for Alex to laugh in his face at the offer. “If you’re serious, yeah. Beats walking in this goddamn heat.”

And Jefferson… smiles at that. It’s not a smile Alex has ever been on the receiving end of, and it throws him off a little. “Yeah, of course. Lemme just run inside to let Mom know where I’m off too and grab the car.” He starts walking back toward the house, waving for Alex to follow him. 

But Alex doesn’t know how to process this, doesn’t know how to be in a conversation with this man without any taunting. “Aw, gotta ask your mommy for permission?” he teases.

Jefferson huffs out a laugh, a real one, not the hard, malicious laugh from before. “No, asshole, I don’t want her to freak out when she comes to get me for lunch and I’m missing.”

They get up to the house, but Alex stops at the base of the stairs. Jefferson gives him a look and tilts his head to the door, but Alex says, “I’ll just… wait out here.” He needs a minute to recalibrate, to get himself back on balance, and accept that he’s about to willingly allow Thomas Jefferson to do him a favor. Walking into the man’s _house,_ possibly meeting his _family,_ would have the opposite effect.

Jefferson just shrugs and disappears for a minute. Alex contemplates texting John or Eliza to tell them what he’s gotten himself into, but knows that John will make fun of him and Eliza will be almost condescendingly proud of his _personal growth_ or whatever. His friends are too predictable for their own good, really.

Jefferson isn’t even gone five minutes, comes back out with a slight frown and a grumbled, “Let’s go,” thrown at Alex. He leads Alex to a frankly ridiculous-sized garage and, once inside, walks to the far side. “Get in.”

Alex isn’t a car guy, but he knows that, objectively, this car is stunning. It’s a classic convertible that looks straight out of a 1950s film, shiny and --

“Jefferson, is your car fucking _lavender?”_ Alex asks, almost giggling.

Jefferson rolls his eyes at Alex over the top of the car, but his smile returns. “Yes, and she’s my most prized possession, so keep your mouth shut.” When they’re both seated and buckled, the car turned on, Jefferson turns to Alex. “You know, Alexander, you _can_ call me by my first name, right? You’re in my car, we can be on a first name basis.”

Alex ignores the feeling he gets from the use of his full name, because it’s so different from the usual reaction to _Alexander,_ and just looks at Jefferson - _Thomas._ He can’t really decipher his facial expression; mouth in a straight line, eyes boring into Alex’s. “Okay.” He pauses. “Thomas.”

Jefferson - _Thomas!_ \- puts the car in drive and Alex almost immediately realizes that not only does Thomas have the car of an old man, but he _drives_ like one too. But Alex tells himself not to complain; Thomas is doing him a favor, he shouldn’t complain about the manner in which that favor is done. Especially since his request - _call me by my first name_ \- has left Alex feeling even more off-balance.

He’s prepared for a silent drive, but then Thomas asks, “You’re still at Columbia, right? Said you were just in DC for the summer?”

Alex nods, even though the other man isn’t looking at him. “Yeah, my last semester starts in September. One of my professors helped me get an internship in George Washington’s office.”

Thomas nods and hums in acknowledgment. “Impressive. Still going to law school after grad?”

_Why does he remember that? He graduated two years ago._ Alex wonders. “Yeah, even applied to one in this _little backwater state.”_

“William and Mary?” he asks, then beams when Alex confirms. “That’s where I’m at.”

“You’re in law school?” Alex asks, disbelief coloring his voice. Thomas’s smile falls, his grip on the steering wheel tightening, and he nods. “No, not like that, not...” Alex groans, trying to clarify his tone. “Not that you’re not, like, smart enough or whatever, you just don’t seem like the lawyer type. No offense.”

Thomas smiles again, but it’s tight and doesn’t reach his eyes. “None taken. I wasn’t planning on going originally.”

Alex can tell that this isn’t the most comfortable topic for Thomas. “Why not?” he presses anyway.

Thomas glances over at Alex quickly before sighing and turning back to the road. “Right before my dad died last year, he made it very clear that it was his dying wish for me to join my older sisters at the family law firm. It was very dramatic.”

Alex looks down at his lap, anxiety washing over him. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he says after a moment of tense silence.

Thomas shrugs. “Thanks.”

_Good job, moron, fucking ruined it,_ Alex berates himself. He tries to think of something else, anything else, to say. He risks a peak over at Thomas, then sees the dirt on his jeans and shirt. “So, you garden?”

The older man actually _does_ smile at that, a soft and genuine smile. “Yeah. Momma loves her flower garden, but none of her nine daughters ever cared about helping her out. So I did.”

Alex smiles at that, can almost picture it; a beautiful woman resembling Thomas bending over in the flower beds Alex saw in front of the house, a toddler version of the man next to him kneeling next to her, nine little girls running around the yard ignoring them both. “That sounds nice. Is that what you’d want to do if you weren’t in law school? Like, open a nursery or something?”

Thomas doesn’t answer immediately, and Alex is worried he’s put his foot in it again. Right as he’s about to start talking again, apologize for overstepping _again_ even though he so rarely apologizes, Thomas says, “Actually, I’ve always wanted to be an architect.”

“Oh,” Alex responds. Like everything else related to Thomas Jefferson today, it’s unexpected. But, if he thinks about it, he does remember John - or was it Herc? - saying something about him being in one of their design classes a few years ago.

“Well,” Thomas says, “here we are.”

Alex looks up, which causes him to realize that he was staring at Thomas. He blushes and promptly shoves _that_ realization away and looks around where Thomas parked. They’re pulled over on the side of the road; there’s an old mailbox and the start of a dirt driveway a few yards in front of them. A historical marker is on the other side of the drive.

“We _are_ in the correct spot, right?” Thomas prompts.

“Yeah,” Alex says. When he turns and sees Thomas’s expression, he realizes an explanation is needed. “Part of my senior study involves sites where British prisoners of war were held during the American Revolution. The actual barracks don’t exist anymore, and it’s actually now private property.”

“Wait, what?” Thomas asks. “So you were going to walk out here all the way from town just to, what, see a historical marker? Then turn right back around?” Alex just nods, and Thomas laughs. “Dude, what the _fuck?”_

Alex bristles. “Listen, I know it isn’t… necessary, really, to my research that I actually come out here. Washington forced me to take the day off, even took my laptop from me, but I _needed_ to do something productive. Even if this is only seen as productive to me. But I wasn’t going to live only a few hours away from this place all summer and just _not_ come here.”

Thomas nods slowly. “Yeah, I get it. Just… something you had to do.”

“Yeah.” Alex shrugs. He starts getting out of the car. “Well-”

“Where are you going?”

Alex almost snaps at Thomas to stop fucking interupting him, but instead just says, “You offered to bring me here. You did.”

Thomas fixes Alex with a look that reminds him of Angelica’s _you fucking idiot_ expression. “Alexander, the offer encompassed bringing you back to town.”

“Oh.” He sits back against the seat again, pauses, then starts to ask, “Would you mind if I...?”

Thomas smiles. “Wanna get out and look around for a minute?”

So they do. For the first few minutes, Thomas hangs back a few steps, and Alex can tell he doesn’t know what he should do. Then Alex starts talking, telling Thomas all that he can remember about this particular site, even runs back to the car to grab his notebook when he can’t remember the exact wording of a quote. Thomas even offers a few comments here and there, things he’s learned by growing up a history nerd in the area, and watches as Alex scribbles his words down. By time he’s told Thomas all that he’s writing about this site, and a good bit about the sites he’s comparing it to, they’ve been sitting on the hood of Thomas’s car for two hours. And even then, he only stops talking because his stomach growls loud enough for them both to hear it.

Thomas laughs. “C’mon, let’s get you back to town.” Thomas slides off the car first, then turns to Alex and offers his hand. It’s not a tall car in the slightest, Alex’s feet are barely more than a foot off the ground, but he still takes Thomas’s hand on his way down and tells himself it’s in case he gets dizzy from the low blood sugar or standing up too fast. Nothing else. 

“Actually,” Thomas says once he’s got the car turned around, “Mom was kinda peeved at me for not inviting you in for lunch or something before we took off. So, if you wanted to…” Thomas trails off, and when Alex looks at him, his expression is unreadable again.

Alex looks down at his phone, sees that it’s after three and that his phone battery is at seven percent. “Uh, yeah, sure. If you’re okay with it… and if it’ll keep her off your back. I just have to be back at the bus station by seven?” He doesn’t know why their conversation has gone back to awkward and stilted, doesn’t know why his sentences come out as questions.

Thomas nods, but doesn’t respond. Alex keeps his mouth shut as well, trying not to read into the silence too much. He tells himself that it’s fine, he’s probably just outstayed his welcome even after talking the older man’s ear off for two hours. He’ll turn down any offer of a drive back into town, will just walk back himself. 

They pull into the driveway sooner than Alex is expecting, silence still stretching between them. When Thomas turns the car off, Alex reaches for the door handle, but Thomas rushes out, “Would you like me to drive you back to DC?”

Alex’s hand drops from the handle, and he turns to face the other man. “What?”

Thomas doesn’t look at Alex, just tilts his head down and starts fiddling with a few curls. It’s… oddly endearing. “Just… if you haven’t already bought your bus ticket. Or if you’d rather not sit on a bus with a bunch of strangers for two hours.”

Alex keeps staring at Thomas, silently willing him to look up. When he does, Alex can finally read his expression for the first time today. It’s anxious, it’s hopeful, and it matches Alex’s feelings exactly.

Alex smiles and leans in a few inches. “So, you’re saying you _want_ to spend two more hours with me today?” he teases. It’s different from his earlier teasing, though, not a hint of malice hidden in his tone or words.

They stare at each other for a minute, and Alex sees Thomas’s eyes flit down to his mouth. Knows Thomas probably sees the same thing in his own eyes.

“Not necessarily. Just, ya know, southern hospitality and all that.”

**Author's Note:**

> any other academics out there do stupid shit just to be some kind of productive? no? just me and fictional alexander hamilton?
> 
> in case anyone was curious, the car i pictured for this was a late 50s cadillac eldorado, one of my favorite cars in existence 
> 
> i love comments and kudos more than thomas loves purple :)
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr at fitsofpassion!


End file.
